


Budapest

by tresa_cho



Series: The One Where They're Pokemon Trainers [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresa_cho/pseuds/tresa_cho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Budapest fic. Natasha has a habit of punishing Clint when he performs badly on a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Budapest

**Author's Note:**

> More Poke'verse! This fic has sex. Lots of explicit sex. But no Pokemon sex. Er, sorry. Read the tags. Don't flame. :)
> 
> Beta'd by omphaloskepsist. All remaining mistakes are mine.

“I need an evac.” Clint pressed the bud into his ear, praying his connection hadn't fizzled out in the Electrode blast. “Preferably soon.”

He dug his heels against the floor, trying to make himself as small as possible behind the stack of crates. Blood slid through his fingers from the bullet hole along his ribs, and he winced as he fumbled for a pokeball.

“Pidgeotto,” he said. He tensed, releasing the bird-type and hoping that the sound didn't attract any of his pursuers. Pidgeotto cocked her head, hobbling closer to him in concern. “Hey. I need you to take this disc.”

He held up a disc, the thing he had come here for, that had put him in the line of fire in the first place. Pidgeotto snatched it from him, holding it carefully in her beak.

“Fly home,” Clint said. She took one step backward, but otherwise didn't move. “Fly _home_ , girl.”

She shook her head with a soft cry.

“This isn't the time to argue with me,” Clint said. “Those are important. I need you to help me, here. I'm not going anywhere soon-”

He was cut off by the howl of a pack of Houndooms. They were close. Too close.

He kicked at Pidgeotto. She fluttered away from him with an indignant squawk. “Get!” he said. “I'll be okay. Promise.”

She gave him one last furious look before taking to the sky. She streaked through the night, a mere shadow against the stars. By the time anyone noticed her, she was out of firing range. Clint breathed a sigh of relief that was short lived. Two minutes later, a crate tumbled down on him, pinning his leg.

He scrambled for his bow, pushing up on one elbow to try and get a good shot. A Houndoom leaned over the crate, snarling as its owners pounded into the alleyway.

This was it. His number was up.

What a shitty way to die.

A shot fired from somewhere, and the bullet slugged one man in the chest. He went down instantly, and the others froze. Clint didn't wait to see which side the gunhand was on. The arrow he fired struck the Houndoom just under its skullbone. He fell with a yelp, and lay still. Clint kicked the crate off his leg. Several shots went off behind him, but a bullet didn't find his spine, so he kept moving.

He rounded a corner and someone jumped to the ground in front of him. He nocked an arrow, but the figure grabbed his bow and swung it down. He threw an elbow. The pain in his side rendered the attack useless. He was on his knees in under a minute, staring up at-

“Nat,” he breathed.

“Are you through?” she asked.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” Clint said, unable to stop himself. Natasha grunted, hauling him to his feet. “Um, the disc is on its way to Fury.”

“Don't care. Not my mission,” Natasha said. “Can you walk?”

“Maybe.” Clint took a shaky step. His legs didn't quite give out, but it was a close thing. “I've been shot, you know.”

“Also don't care.” Natasha scanned the street, gun out and at the ready. “There's a safe house at the edge of town. Do you think you can make it?”

“Bet I can beat you there,” Clint said, fingering an arrow in his thigh quiver.

“Even if you knew where it was, I wouldn't take that bet,” Natasha said. She lifted the gun and fired a shot. Someone fell, dead, in the main street just a few yards away. “Let's go.”

Clint managed to keep up. He was very proud of himself. When Natasha unlocked the door to the safe house he couldn't feel his legs, but he was still standing. She slid a shoulder under his and helped ease him inside.

One dim light lit the sparse room. Natasha set him down on the single bed before returning to the door to close and lock it. He tried to track her, but his body felt heavy. He must have made some sort of noise, because she turned to him and her face went white.

“Barton-”

He passed out.

...*...

When he woke, his mouth felt like a Muk had up and died in it. He groaned, throwing out his arm. When he opened his eyes, he saw Natasha sitting at the rickety wooden table, her Kirlia perched on top of it delicately.

“Copy, sir,” Natasha said. She turned in the chair, gun in hand. “Coulson says we're scheduled for a three AM flight out of here. There's a two day layover in Germany. He's going to meet us there.”

The words sank into Clint's brain. His... Wait.

“Meet us?” Clint stared at the ceiling. At some point his glasses had been removed, along with his shirt and pants. His knives had been carefully removed from their sheaths and placed beside him or under his pillow, the way he normally slept. “As in, voice conference, right?”

“As in, he will be in the hotel room waiting for us.” Natasha stood and recalled her Kirlia, clipping the pokeball into its place on her belt. She walked to the bed and climbed on it, straddling his thighs. “Close one.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, feeling his throat tighten. “I was careless.”

She bent over him, putting absolutely no pressure on his meticulously bandaged ribs, and rested her head at his shoulder. “I didn't think I'd get there in time.”

Clint was quiet. He lifted a hand and stroked her hair back from her face. She shifted, falling sideways on the bed next to him. He moved with her, let her cradle his head in the sanctuary of her body. Her fingers through his hair sent him into an light doze, until she gently nudged him awake to catch their flight.

Dressing him took some time. He worked his way into a black button up and black jeans. If he bled through the bandages on the flight it wouldn't be too noticeable. They had to leave everything, even Clint's beloved bow. He moaned about its loss the entire way to the airport, but as soon as they were seated he passed out again.

Natasha kept an unassuming arm around his waist as they made their way through Tegel. To the outside observer, they were a couple on vacation. She piled him into a cab and issued swift directions in fluent German to the cabbie. They took off.

The location was a small hole-in-the-wall on a side street. Natasha tugged him out of the cab and helped him inside the front door.

A shriek drove a spike of pain through his skull, and Clint looked up to see Pidgeotto soar out of one of the side rooms. She hit him, and only Natasha stopped him from falling flat on his ass as he grabbed her up.

“You made it,” he said, “My good girl. My beautiful girl”

Pidgeotto flailed in his arms, a warm bundle of pure energy in her excitement. Clint laughed, dragging his fingers through her feathers. He thought he heard Natasha giggle too.

“Good work, Agent Romanov.”

Natasha and Clint both turned to see a man in a black suit walk from the side room. An Eevee bounded around his feet, pausing to sniff at them before reaching up for Pidgeotto. Clint let her go, and they rolled about on the floor, wrestling playfully.

“Agent Barton. I trust your next mission will run smoother.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” Clint said. “It won't happen again.”

“I know it won't,” the man said. “My name is Phil Coulson. Pleased to finally meet you both. I've come to take you home.”

“Home sounds amazing,” Clint said, wavering on his feet.

“Perhaps you would like to lie down, Barton,” Coulson said. He nodded at Natasha, and they both grabbed him. Clint tried to protest that this was completely unnecessary, but his legs chose that moment to ignore him. Coulson and Natasha helped him to a bed in one of the adjoining rooms.

He was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

His vision was full of pink when he woke next. He jerked and immediately regretted it, curling in on himself as a fresh bolt of pain rocked through his side. He gasped, and the giant pink blob above him cooed anxiously.

Chansey. It was a Chansey.

Clint relaxed, collapsing against the pillow.

“I always bring one with me on a mission,” Coulson said from his seat in a corner. “I find them extremely useful when handling field agents.”

Clint's side warmed as the Chansey touched a hand to his wound. He could almost feel the skin knitting together, slowly but surely.

“Normal types?” Clint asked, unable to help himself.

“That Normal type is healing up your botched mission,” Coulson pointed out. Clint scowled. “I think you should count your blessings before insinuating about other's choices in Training.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Accepted. Just keep it to yourself from now on,” Coulson said. He uncrossed his legs and stood, walking to the bed. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Don't cut it that close again. Too much paperwork when an agent dies.”

“Thanks. I think,” Clint said. Coulson reached down and patted his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“I'll get Ms Romanov,” Coulson said. And then he was gone.

Natasha crept into the room a bit later, footsteps soft. She slid around the Chansey and crawled into bed with him, molding her body along his. Chansey hummed in approval, and continued its work.

By the time it finished, the pain was a distant memory and he could take a full breath without inciting agony. He may or may not have let out a little sob of relief that caused Natasha to hold him tighter.

“Thank you, Chansey.”

Chansey disappeared in a flash of soft, white light and Coulson froze.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn't-” He flushed, the red colouring delightful on his cheeks. Clint forced down the laugh bubbling in his throat. “I'll, um, go-”

For a man who always knew exactly what to say when missions went to shit, he certainly had no idea how to respond to the situation before him.

Natasha pushed herself up on her hands. “Wait,” she said. She locked eyes with Clint. He cocked an eyebrow.

She pursed her lips and nodded at Coulson.

Clint flicked his eyes between her and their handler. He nodded slowly.

“Come here.” Natasha waved at Coulson. Natasha was not someone to ignore.

Coulson moved to the bedside.

“We have this Thing,” Natasha said. “After bad missions.”

“Thing?” Coulson encouraged.

“I pin him down and fuck him into the mattress,” Natasha said. Clint's own cheeks heated at how casually she said it. “Punishment, you understand.”

“I don't see how that would encourage him to perform better,” Coulson said with a wry smile. Clint groaned, burying his face in Natasha's thigh.

“Because he likes being on top,” she said.

“Why are you telling me this?” Coulson asked.

“Because sometimes we think about you,” Natasha said. “This is the first time you've ever been here. We want to offer you an invitation.”

“You realise I'm your handler,” Coulson pointed out. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“You're the voice we hear when things go to shit,” she said. “When we make it back safe. When we lose sight of the objective. You can't tell me you've never imagined what we looked like.”

“I've seen your mugshots,” Coulson said. “I didn't think we'd be quite so... intimate during our first meeting.”

“Barton used to swallow swords for a living,” Natasha said blithely. Coulson flushed, the tips of his ears going a delicious shade of pink. Clint groaned as Natasha rolled over him, aligning their hips.

“I suppose in the interests of encouraging Barton to perform better, I can partake in this exercise.”

Clint glanced at Coulson to see him moving towards the bed, shucking his jacket. His shoulder holster sheathed a pistol on one side and six pokeballs on the other. He carefully unbuttoned it and slipped it from his shoulders.

“Have you given any thought to the logistics?” Coulson asked.

“I'll ride his cock and you can fuck his face,” Natasha said. And damn if that didn't get Clint hard instantly. “He's not going anywhere.”

“Very true. Is that acceptable to you, Barton?”

Feeling slightly ridiculous they were even having this discussion, Clint barely managed a nod.

Coulson stripped the way he executed missions, practically, efficiently, and without much flare. Clint swallowed hard as every inch of skin was revealed. His cock hung, full and heavy between his legs, and Clint's mouth watered. He wasn't ripped, but his muscles were softly defined by a few hours a week at the gym, and Fury's training regimen. If Natasha hadn't pinned his hands, he'd be reaching for the man.

“Come on, then,” Natasha said with a nod of her head. She slipped her shirt over her head as Coulson neared them, pausing at the head of the bed. He leaned over Clint slightly.

“I feel that times like this should require more sensuality,” Coulson said in a low voice. Clint stared up at him, taking in the planes of his chest as it rose and fell with each breath.

“You forget he's being punished,” Natasha said, standing to slip her trousers off. She kicked them over the edge of the bed and bent almost in two to work Clint's boxers off. He inhaled sharply as cool air kissed skin, and was unsurprised to see his cock flushed already.

“I've yet to determine the effectiveness of this form of punishment,” Coulson said. His hands found Clint's hair. Clint closed his eyes. The two most important people in the world were finally with him. Together.

“I'll let you write a report when we're finished,” Natasha said, sinking down against Clint. He arched up instinctively, and Natasha pushed his hips down firmly.

“You two really know how to kill a mood,” Clint said, surprised at how rough his voice was already.

“Smile when you lie,” Natasha said. She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I think he's talking too much.”

Coulson circled Clint's lips with a finger, dragging skin along before he slid the finger between Clint's lips. Clint rolled his tongue around the digit, pursing his lips. Coulson slipped his finger free with a wet pop before cupping Clint's jaw and tilting his chin up. “Move,” Coulson said.

Together they slid Clint up the bed, until his head hung over the edge of the mattress.

Clint panted in anticipation, feeling the sticky-smooth of a condom rolling over his erection. The entire mattress shifted around his head as Coulson leaned his knees against the mattress and positioned himself over Clint. Clint's mouth was slack, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding still.

Natasha dragged her hand up and down his shaft, slicking it with lube. This close, Clint could smell Coulson, the slight hint of sandalwood aftershave, and a scent he forever associated with _office_. Coulson lowered himself enough that his prick brushed Clint's lips. Clint kissed the tip, stretching his neck to pull it into his mouth.

Coulson let out a soft sound, lowering himself further. Clint sealed his lips around Coulson's prick, and the man thrust shallowly over his tongue. Clint pressed up, rolling his tongue over salty flesh. He arched his neck, trying to take more, to make Coulson move quicker. To feel him pressing the back of his throat, grounding him in his body.

Natasha pushed her pelvis to his, firmly holding his erection against her as she moved. Clint released a soft moan, shifting to give her a better angle. Her hair brushed his stomach when she leaned to bite a mark into his hip. She held him down against the instinct to thrust and toyed with his erection against her vulva.

Coulson fingered Clint's jaw, the gentlest pressure causing him to drop his jaw. Sliding unhurriedly, Coulson pushed himself further into Clint's mouth. Mouth wide, Clint tipped his head back to accommodate the hot, thick intrusion. He swallowed reflexively, and Coulson shuddered at the sensation.

Natasha lowered herself onto Clint's prick. Rolling her hips, she rocked him just enough that Coulson bumped the back of his throat. Clint gagged slightly, taken by surprise.

Immediately, Coulson withdrew. Clint gasped, swallowing fiercely.

“It's all right,” he said. He lifted one hand to grip Coulson's thigh. “Keep going. I can take it.”

“Damn right you can take it,” Natasha said. She reached over Clint and hooked a hand behind Coulson's neck. She pulled him close. The kiss could have melted lead. Clint stared up at them. Even from this angle he could feel the intensity. The sharp, strong lines of Coulson's chest and throat fell along Natasha's beautiful curves, fitting like a perfectly balanced arrow in a bow.

He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Natasha slid her lips along Coulson's throat and shoulder, making her pleased noises as she moved. She slid down Clint's shaft, until she was fully seated, nestled in the firm muscles of his thigh. Clint's mouth hung open, heat welling along his spine.

Coulson pushed back into his mouth unexpectedly, and Clint eagerly mouthed at his erection. Gripping his jaw, Coulson slid in further than he had before. Clint opened his throat to ease the slide, swallowing back his gag reflex. Coulson grunted over him, chest and neck flushed as he sank into Clint's throat.

He could breathe shallowly through his nose, until Natasha started moving on his hips. She leaned over him, bumping shoulders with Coulson as she rolled her hips, dragging a hot, moist grip along Clint's erection. The motion pushed him up the bed, forcing Coulson's prick further into his throat.

Breath choked off, and he saw stars.

Coulson shifted back, resting his forehead on Natasha's shoulder to look down at him. “Okay?”

“Don't stop,” Clint said, his throat hoarse from the abuse. “God. Don't stop.”

“He likes it.” Coulson murmured into Natasha's ear, nosing a few soaked ringlets back from her cheek.

“He enjoys living dangerously,” Natasha responded. “You should let him have it. He'll be a good boy. Won't you, Clint?”

Clint groaned pathetically, trying valiantly not to whimper like the puddle of sheer lust he had been reduced to. He thought he heard Coulson chuckle. Coulson's prick bumped his tongue, and Clint let his jaw hang open wide for him. His thick length filled Clint's mouth, deeper, as deep as Clint could take him.

Clint choked, throat closing convulsively around Coulson's prick, and Natasha sank onto him. He was burning, on fire from both ends. 

“Oh god.” Coulson whispered into Natasha's shoulder.

“Go on,” she encouraged. Coulson grunted into her skin, pushing himself deep into Clint's throat.

A prick stuffed down his throat, and Natasha riding him like it was their last night on earth. Clint could only hold on, dig his fingers into Coulson's thighs and breathe when he was allowed.

Coulson's muscles coiled tight just before he came, warning Clint in time. He almost popped his jaw in his effort to swallow, but the liquefied mass of man on top of him was totally worth it. Coulson slipped out of his mouth, and Clint gasped, choking on his rapid inhale.

Coulson pressed two large palms to his chest, forcing him to control his breathing. Natasha rocked him, a hand under his hips to heighten the angle. Coulson held his hands in place, pinning them over his head. She shuddered, sending a burning convulsion around his prick. He gasped, clenching his jaw.

“Nat-” he ground out. “Please. Please-”

“That's my good boy,” Natasha said breathlessly, squeezing around him. “Come for me.”

Clint's vision whited out as he choked on a cry.

When he could feel himself again, he was surrounded by sweat-slick skin on all sides. He groaned, rolling his head on its arm-pillow to see Natasha tucked up on one side. She smiled gently at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey back,” he said, rubbing his knuckles against her bare stomach.

“I think you might be cutting off circulation to his arm,” Natasha said with a slight nod.

Clint turned to face the other way and brushed noses with a sleeping Coulson. Phil. He might as well call him Phil. The man had his prick shoved down Clint's throat. They were probably on a first name basis by now.

Phil's arm stretched across the pillow, tucked under Clint's head comfortably. Clint realised one of his arms was thrown over Phil's waist, holding him close. Their legs tangled together, sticky and hot. Natasha's toes played with his calves.

“There's gotta be some regulation against this,” Clint said.

“About sixteen,” Natasha said helpfully. She nuzzled his shoulder. Clint was again reminded of how much like a Purrloin she was.

“I'm sorry, Nat,” Clint said, tugging gently on a scarlet curl. She blinked up at him, pursing her lips.

“Don't do it again,” she said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Clint hummed.

“We still have a whole day before our flight,” Phil said drowsily. Clint felt heat creep into his cheeks.

“I don't think I can take any more punishment,” Clint said.

“Oh. I think you can.” Natasha shifted against him.

Turned out he could.


End file.
